Es la canción "O estrangeiro", que no es de Dylan pero los 2 últimos versos dicen: "Some may like a soft brazilian singer But I´ve given up all attempts at perfection"

¿Alguien reconoce esas palabras?

aqui va,

"Liner Notes" de Bringing it all back home...

I'm standing there watching the parade/feeling combination of sleepy john estes.jayne mansfield. humphry bogart/morti-mer snerd. murph the surf and so forth/erotic hitchhiker wearing japaneseblanket. gets my attention by asking didn'the see me at this hootenanny down inpuerto vallarta, mexico/i say no you mustbe mistaken. i happen to be one of theSupremes/then he rips off his blanketan' suddenly becomes a middle-aged druggist.up for district attorney. he starts scream-ing at me you're the one. you're the onethat's been causing all them riots over invietnam. immediately turns t' a bunch ofpeople an' says if elected, he'll have meelectrocuted publicly on the next fourthof july. i look around an' all these peoplehe's talking to are carrying blowtorches/needless t' say, i split fast go back t' thenice quiet country. am standing there writingWHAAT? on my favorite wall when who shouldpass by in a jet plane but my recordingengineer "i'm here t' pick up you and yourlastest works of art. do you need any helpwith anything?''

(pause)

my songs're written with the kettledrumin mind/a touch of any anxious color. un-mentionable. obvious. an' people perhapslike a soft brazilian singer . . . i havegiven up at making any attempt at perfection/the fact that the white house is filled withleaders that've never been t' the apollotheater amazes me. why allen ginsberg wasnot chosen t' read poetry at the inaugurationboggles my mind/if someone thinks normanmailer is more important than hank williamsthat's fine. i have no arguments an' inever drink milk. i would rather model har-monica holders than discuss aztec anthropology/english literature. or history of the unitednations. i accept chaos. I am not sure whetherit accepts me. i know there're some people terrifiedof the bomb. but there are other people terrifiedt' be seen carrying a modern screen magazine.experience teaches that silence terrifies peoplethe most . . . i am convinced that all souls havesome superior t' deal with/like the schoolsystem, an invisible circle of which no onecan think without consulting someone/in theface of this, responsibility/security, successmean absolutely nothing. . . i would not wantt' be bach. mozart. tolstoy. joe hill. gertrudestein or james dean/they are all dead. theGreat books've been written. the Great sayingshave all been said/I am about t' sketch Youa picture of what goes on around here some-times. though I don't understand too wellmyself what's really happening. i do knowthat we're all gonna die someday an' that nodeath has ever stopped the world. my poemsare written in a rhythm of unpoetic distortion/divided by pierced ears. false eyelashes/sub-tracted by people constantly torturing eachother. with a melodic purring line of descriptivehollowness -- seen at times through dark sunglassesan' other forms of psychic explosion. a song isanything that can walk by itself/i am calleda songwriter. a poem is a naked person . . . somepeople say that i am a poet

(end of pause)

an' so i answer my recording engineer"yes. well i could use some help in gettingthis wall in the plane"

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